♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

Topic #26

Interview a character from your book. Why did you choose this character?

Hi, everyone and welcome to The Blue Honor Blog from whence you came.

Today on the blog I’ll be interviewing Captain Maiel, of Eden, Zion. She’s a commander of a military unit under the designation Moon Order. Her commanding presence, reaching just over seven feet in height is disarming, along with those eyes of lurid blue and brilliant red hair. This doesn’t even mention the wings! Today she is dressed in the plainclothes uniform of her order, a subtle toga-styled gown in cream with the order penannular (that’s a brooch of sorts, fitted with nano-tech that houses her active duty uniform—that uniform is very Greco-Roman in design—see the figure on the left) fixed on her left shoulder. Ever at her side is Leader Argus, a wolf who serves the legions in her unit. Despite his formidable appearance, he is laying by the Captain’s chair as sweetly as a pup.

Good afternoon, Captain. It’s a pleasure to have you with us today.

Thank you for having me. (She replies in a tone that evokes the power behind her command and absolute confidence. Her eyes seem to glow as I’m weighed and measured.)

Well, let’s get right in it then. Now that you’re back from what many are calling a crisis of conscience, how do you view your contribution to Zion’s armies and how your life has been so far?

My contributions are on record, and I have been ordered a penance for my disobedience to rank by General Mikhael himself. One must also consider that I was able to return a fallen member of my order, something that was not accomplished in the two-thousand years he roamed Earth. I’d have expected a contingent to be deployed to Samsara sooner—(she exhales, amused, if not somewhat abashed by her strong feelings on that matter). My life is getting back on track and any doubts I once harbored in my commanders or the king are all resolved.

All of them?

She nods, with a knowing smirk. I’m digging into private and military affairs that are rather wrapped up in government secrecy.

Let’s move on. Rumor has it that your husband, who is a human, entities who frequent the Samsaran realm on Earth (where I live), may be fighting a burning down? Is that true?

I would not be too hasty with a rumor mill. Dominic has paid dearly for the rumors swirling around us. It should also be noted that there is prejudice toward the mixing of races and many view humans as clever apes. Because of this, he has struggled for many years, but is achieving his rising.

Indeed, Captain. I’m glad to help you clear the air about that. Speaking of air—I see you have a new companion.

Oh, yes, this is Pallus, he was given to me by one of the cloister Powers. He’s been trained to assist my unit with reconnaissance and intelligence.

Wow, and I thought he was just a barn owl. Does he speak, too? Like your friend Argus, here?

Pallus is barely hatched, she muses, stroking his feathers. He’s still learning communications with other species, but he does all right. You may not recognize how he talks, per se. Whereas Argus has learned speech and transmits it telepathically, Pallus is still working in images.

May I touch him?

Only if you have a cookie to offer. She scoffs, playful. Relieving my tension. He’s quite sensitive to touch because of his feathers and it can be unsettling for him. Moving the owlet down her arm, the Captain presents her companion. If you scratch him lightly, just here, he will warm to you.

I gently press my fingers into the thick feathers of the bulb of his head, and give a little scratch. The bird yawns, tilting his head aside, and seems to appreciate the touch. As I pull my fingers back they tingle with the energy these Zionites give off.

Amazing. What is that feeling?

Atman. His energy or being.

I’m sorry? Can you explain that a bit more.

Atman is the true state of all life. It’s energy rather than matter, although matter is energy.

But you have form.

Yes, we all do, to the perception of others. It is our perception that forges the reality in which we live. For instance, in your realm, you must wear these bodies—skin suits, my son calls them. They’re a phenomenal bio interface machine that allows you to utilize this plane to discover the very depths of your atman and rise into greater states of being.

Rise? Do you mean grow? Are we changing into things? My body isn’t real?

Oh, your body is real, to this plane of existence, at least. However, it’s just a machine your consciousness directly or indirectly attaches to for a short time as you run exercises. We’re all changing, all the time. Just as now you’re becoming more aware of things that are, expanding your perception.

I stare for the longest time, thinking she’s mad, but I can see her wings and the size of her. She’s not of my world. That much is obvious. She’s something that gave rise to the myths of heaven and hell in our world. Our ancestors knew of them, and wrote of them and I swear if I touched her my hand would pass through her flesh, but she’s so solid looking at the same time. Then, a dark shape scurries behind the Captain’s chair. My heart races. The wolf at her side rises, a growl low in his throat. She touches his haunch and he sits, keeping a close eye on the same corner I saw that thing retreat to.

This is what the Zionites call a wraith.

What the hell was that?

That is an imp. A little bit of trouble. Nothing to worry over. I will clear him when we’re done.

An imp? (I see it again and gasp). What the hell?

They’re around you all the time. They’re formed from your energy, dark energies that bog you down. Like a poison gas it seeps through the world. At first they’re simply annoying. A lamp falls over as it bumps a table trying to hide from the Captain it has now spotted. It seems terrorized by her mere presence, something I can relate to. He’ll make you spill your coffee, or trip you in the hall to embarrass you in front of a young man you’ve grown a fancy to. But, given time, they grow, feeding off your hate and distress. They can become a haunting, moving things about the rooms, giving you nightmares, attacking you.

I’ve woken up recently with scratches on the back of my shoulder. I’ve had bruises before—are you telling me—

Yes, you probably have grown a rather large one. Have you lived here long? You could have also inherited one from a former tenant. If you don’t have a cat, that is.

Footsteps creep on the stairs. It’s too timely but I’m already startled. I don’t own a cat, no. The apartment is old. So many thoughts racing.

I will take care of it, she assures me.

So then, Zion isn’t the only world that has access to ours?

She raises her eyebrow at this, as if I have not been paying attention in class the whole time.

No. They come from you, emanations of your bad energies. They can become marditavya if they grow great enough. Most just form small and make up herds as an atman regresses to the darkness. Then they become your servants.

I thought you said we were rising.

Many of you are. Many of you are falling. There are shadows here too. Darkness is always on the edge, willing you to do bad, to regress and find your destiny with Jahannam.

Is there nothing that can stop it?

You are guarded, but ultimately it is your decision if you will rise or fall.

My heightened state of panic is not eased as creeping and noises start to prick my ears from around the house. It was just me and the Captain at this interview when we started and now I have a sense that so many more are present.

I fear asking you to embellish.

Each soul, that is your kind, animal kind and so on, is guarded by a legiona who is tasked with ushering you toward your rising. Everything you do in this life is meant to direct you toward that end, but sometimes, there is a crack—a fissure—in the crystal that distracts the will and puts more focus on the darker aspirations. Some souls desire the dark, and must find their rising by first falling.

I feel like I’m finally calming down, focused on what she has said when a metal pan falls in the kitchen, clanging across the floor as though the witch had just struck the tinman down. No, Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore. My heart thrums as I wait for something to emerge from the swinging kitchen door. Then I see a hulking winged brute near my chair. Leaping to my feet, I regard him with wild eyes.

Your guardian, my interviewee tells me.

I suppose I should find comfort in that he isn’t a demon.

Indeed, but now that you know the truth—the shades will seek you. Keep the secret from those who would do you harm. Your discernment will be your guide. The dark is forever at your door step, biding the time you leave your soul unlocked and it will snatch you away. But share this gift with those who must know. They must be warned.

The captain hands me what looks like a small penannular with a triangle and eye on it.

You’re one of us now.

I accept the gift and close out the interview. The winged pair clear the room of the intruders and the light seems to lift, as if a curtain had partially been drawn over the windows at their arrival. I look to see Argus staring up at me. He seems amused by my duress, but gives my leg a nuzzle before trotting off to his commanders call.

Learning the truth about our world—our worlds—nothing will ever be the same…

Born in Los Angeles, California, Mrs. Wooden-Carlisle desired to be a poet and novelist at the age of 11. Today, Mrs. Wooden Carlisle lives in San Diego with her husband, serving as a church Office Manager, teaches fitness classes, celebrates her faith through dance, and is currently writing her third book in the Christian-fiction series, Promises to Zion. Check out her other books here.

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

Topic #25

Share and tell why you like a favorite movie–perhaps a classic and/or one more recent.

I’m the founder of the deviant Art Group dAFilmSpot. You can find me on that site under KWilliamsPhoto.

Well isn’t this just up my alley? For those who are new to my blog, I obtained a master’s degree in film studies and screenwriting in June 2014. I have a lifelong love of film and attempted to write scripts in high school. After undergraduate studies (English and History), I taught myself the proper format and techniques for screenwriting, so that I could adapt books. That was what led me to eventually seek a graduate level degree in the art form. I simply love film. It has taught me a great deal about being able to deconstruct just about any text (texts being a catch all term for just about everything). I used the theories of semiotics and intertext to frame most of my work.

Currently, I am working on optioning the adaptation of my second novel, OP-DEC: Operation Deceit with a producer. My focus in grad school was on the adaptation of novels and my final project was the difficult task of adapting my own work for film. Placing a producer would be the culmination of all that work.

As you can imagine, with this known, my love of film is of great interest to those who interviewed me in the past. What we have found is that it’s hard to nail down just one film that stands out above all others for me. The reason is that when we talk film we’re talking about those films I studied intimately and from which I learned the craft. They’re each special. The, almost all films (and television) that I watch now, whether old or new, have much more profound meaning. Once you learn theory, your mind is opened up and views things from so many angles and the intertexts add richer depth. Everything becomes fascinating. That said, there are indeed two films that stand out. This pair has brought me the most emotional investment of any of the films I have watched yet (although, the trailer for the new Star Wars brought a tear to my—I am so stoked!). As much as I love and talk up Insidious and Inception and how my thoughts are set on fire by them, these other two films truly hold my heart.

So what are they?

I know! These films are on opposites ends of the spectrum; at least, at first glance. First of all, one is shot in black and white and celebrates the heyday of the silver screen, spoofing Universal’s great monster flicks of the 1930s. Mel Brooks directed and Gene Wilder wrote. The team was perfection. The other film is technicolor, not literally, but figuratively. The footage is shot in rich and startling color that is achingly alive. The reason for the format is the film posits that heaven is what each person envisions. In this case, Chris sees heaven as being inside of his wife’s paintings. As an artist, this touches my heart deeper than anything I have watched.

Though these films are different on the surface, they do have things in common. The main similarity ties into my background. The films are both adaptations of amazing books: Mary Shelley‘s Frankenstein and Richard Matheson‘s What Dreams May Come. I have not had the privilege yet to read Matheson’s work, but it is well loved already by many fans: “a classic novel of love after death, from one our greatest fantasy writers” (Amazon Reviews). It asks, on the surface, one of the greatest questions to puzzle humanity, and is something I have been fascinated by throughout all of my studies. That preoccupation with a great beyond finally spilled over into my own fantasy/sci-fi series.

The films at the top of my list reflect me in many ways, from my comedic antics and colorfulness, to the presence of twins (I’m a Gemini), the artistic imagination on fire, homage to books, films reflecting on themselves and so on. I could go on a lot more about these two masterpieces but you have plenty more reading to do throughout the hop, so I’ll let you go to check out those other entries (see the links below).

Stephany Tullis‘s life changed dramatically in the fall of 2008. When her oldest son asked, ‘why don’t you just write a book? Do what you love to do?’, after a few weeks of thought, she decided to give it a shot.

From inception to publication, Stephany worked for four years on her first novel, The Master’s Plan, A Novel About Purpose. When thinking about how much she continually enjoys reading her debut novel, she writes, “I still laugh at all my favorite chapters and have yet to decide who is my favorite or least liked character. It’s amazing! I was able to spin a tail around two frameworks that have had a major influence on my life: church and government politics. In writing The Master Plan, I was reminded of what a blessed life I have had and that despite what appeared to be very dismal circumstances, I was able to use my creativity and love of writing in a different way. Truly, I can see and believe, it was all part of a master plan.”

Stephany Tullis graduated from Russell Sage College with a Masters in Public Service Administration. She is the recipient of several leadership and career related rewards. She continues to consult for not for profits and lives in Georgia with her family. Check out her books! She’s from Upstate New York too!

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

#24• Topic:

Gratitude – What are you grateful for?

This year has been especially tough. My dad’s cancer recurred and my savings is getting chewed up by unexpected and high expenses. My health is suffering for it. That slippery slope to depression is just a tad to the left, or maybe I’ve already started sliding under it. I feel more overwhelmed than ever—more so than when I was in graduate school, working full time, writing the trilogy, maintaining this blog in its early stages, dealing with two months of a UTI with Sadie, and then somehow getting one myself, and the subsequent bill because my doctor used the wrong lab for my insurance plan. Oh, and then there is my car and the monthly maintenance starting a year ago–new brakes on two wheels, routine upkeep, four new tires, new snow tires, and on and on and on. Then, my landlord said, oh, by the way, we’re raising the rent on you to fair market value which is $300 more than you were paying, while you’re barely making ends meet. And everyone—EVERYONE—wants me to give money to something or do something that takes money.

In the middle of all that. I am honestly still grateful. I can easily be a Debbie Downer. This is what my year has been like:

I can’t say I can be grateful for good health. I don’t feel well, mentally or otherwise, to be honest. I can’t say that things are going well in any sector of my professional life. I’ve been on hold pattern for going on twenty years. I can’t say I’m grateful for a lot, but things change on a dime. I hope.

I am grateful that I have a job at all, though the income falls short, I have health benefits, though they fall short.

I am grateful for the closet full of clothes that I have, although, most have holes in them and/or stains, and are going on a decade or so many more in years. I buy new things on the cheap now and they last a few months. It’s expensive to live like this, but the choice is to replace something that has worn or pay the light bill, skip a couple meals…

I am grateful for my dog, though I am constantly concerned that as she ages things are going to get really tough. Do I have enough put away to cover her? I don’t even have enough put away to cover me. But I am grateful for her unyielding affection. I’m only sorry I get very little time with her because of my horrible schedule.

I am grateful to have a day off every other week to try and write. I don’t, literally, have any days off. I am going seven days a week on either errands, chores, work, cooking, maintaining the dog’s needs, and trying to blog and market my books. I no longer have time to write. My attitude is beginning to show that.

I am grateful that I had a savings account to meet this year. But what about this next year coming? Will things get better? So much for the house I was trying to save a down payment for. Even worse was the prospect of what I could afford to buy—it puts new meaning to fixer upper.

I am grateful that I am single, because as I watch family go through the pain of a bad break up, I know I won’t have to do that. It would be nice to have someone to help out, to love and be loved by, but the grass might only appear greener. As a single, I have only me to worry about, and only me to get things done, and only me to bring home an income, and only me to blame at the end of the day when it fails miserably like it has been this year.

But, I’m supposed to be thankful for still having a couple years left to have a kid if any at all, and pay for a donor because that’s not happening. Not holding my breath, like I’m not holding my breath for being able to go on a real vacation again any time soon (haven’t been on one in 15 years). But, I am thankful for my memories of those things I used to have back in the day.

Slowly loosing everything, reaching the bottom, I’m grateful that this too will change. I guess. That’s what they say.

Despite that awful list above, there really is a lot to be grateful for. Yes, almost all of it can be swept from under your feet in a moment. Be grateful more deeply in the moment, trust me, it might be all that keeps you warm one day—those memories. I choose to be grateful despite the bad. So what am I grateful for?

I am grateful for a couple things that don’t have a flip side, which I could get caught up moaning about. For one, I am grateful that I can still be grateful! Many don’t like the ideology of a positive mental attitude or choosing happiness, but as a survivor of depression and a lot of bad stuff, I can say it has worked for me. It’s okay if doesn’t work for someone else, because something that didn’t work for me works for them. I think having various options to try are more important, and someone to be patient enough to have your back as you do find what works for you.

Second, I am grateful that I know how to cook so well. When money is tight and I need to try and whip something together that is palatable and makes me feel some sense of wealth in that I have something to eat still, this skill is priceless. I can mix and match what’s in the pantry and fridge and get creative. This really hones those skills. It builds confidence, too.

And despite the knee-jerk desire to moan about all those things that might come if, there are a million more tiny little things I am grateful for every day. So, I choose to ignore the really crumby stuff this year has given me. After all, Dad is healing, money will come back in, divorces are often a good thing in hindsight, and, any month now, I might get the call from the doctor that my own little one is on the way. Even if those things fall apart, there are too many other things that are there to hold me up. So, don’t get bogged down in the yeah, but what if. Be grateful, even if you’re only grateful the stuff that worries you isn’t actually happening to you, that you get up every morning and that you have the opportunity to embrace the good things that must and will come to you.

Stevie Turner hails from East Anglia, UK, and attributes the countryside of her home with giving her the inspiration to write. She has found her unique voice writing the kind of novels women like to read. To date she has self-published seven books, mainly dealing with the darker side of relationships and always a bit of humor. You can find details of her books on the website:

‘Do you like to read? Wouldn’t you like to know more about your favorite authors? Well you came to the right place! Join the MMB Open Book Blog Hop each Wednesday and they will tell all. Every week we’ll answer questions and after you’ve enjoyed the blog on this site we’ll direct you to another. So come back often for a thrilling ride! Tell your friends and feel free to ask us questions in the comment box.’To join our Open Book Blog Hop – where we share all sorts of things about “life”.

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

#23• Topic: Mother/Daughter Relationships

I am blessed. My situation is probably more unique than it should be. I love my mom. She’s a great woman, who supported me and my only brother first. Family is everything to her, and through her I learned the importance of that idea. Not everyone is as lucky as I am to have such a great relationship with their mother. I know many who revile Mother’s Day. I know others who’s idea of mother is wrapped in the pain of loss. So, I understand completely how blessed I am.

I inherited her looks and the sound of her voice. I’m only slightly taller. I have her talent for cooking and being an animal whisperer—the wild birds have yet to accept me. Above all, I developed my empathy and emotional intelligence because of her. When I think of nurturing, I think of my mother. I pray I’ll be something like her, as close as possible, please, when I raise a child.

We still look forward to doing things together. I call her weekly for updates. She’s more busy now than ever, so making time can be problematic. I’m so proud of her, getting out there, after years of making raising her family and working a priority. Right now memories of sipping hot-cocoa while watching Rankin Bass’s Rudolph spill through my mind—blue twilight of the living room, the hall light on, wrapped in a blanket; the Christmas tree warmly glows, and the gentle tick-tick of a Santa’s workshop animated ornament fills the backdrop.

Just a couple weeks ago, we went apple picking, a tradition that even as an adult, I make sure we keep up. Family is important. I can’t see taking friends to do this. I haven’t settled down yet, that I can take my own family. I see me having a child on my own, and even then, it will be me, mom and dad and the new addition. To me, that’s perfect. As perfect as snuggling up on the couch and watching Christmas specials in the dark.

My memories are so full–sweet little valentines, Easter baskets, and our favorite Halloween traditions of decorating, costumes and trick-or-treats. In fact, our conversation included an excited sharing of my newest decorations found at Target. Oh, they’re so cool.

Mom is the one on the far left, then my great aunt Lillian, grandmother Rose and my great aunt Isabelle.

Back when I was a preteen, we started to have some tension. You see, I was growing up, and mom wasn’t handling that very well. I still can’t tell you what she feared, but she was afraid of something. The tension revealed itself in school shopping for new outfits, disagreements in everyday conversations and lots of silent treatment. We still don’t agree on the facts. The truth is, they don’t matter. I found my autonomy by getting a job as soon as I could and paying for the things I wanted, such as school clothes and music. The delicate balance of conversation was achieved once more. She was, before this, the person I could always talk to and she became that once more. To this day, I can tell mom anything and be candid. Her support doesn’t falter, but she’s also honest when she thinks I might be screwing up.

Mom is my rock. I’m blessed. A member of a small group of women who raise each other up instead of breaking each other down. An even smaller group lucky enough to have a bond. A group yet smaller, who’s traditions haven’t been interrupted by death.

Let’s go over and check out what the other authors have had to say about mother daughter relationships (see below), but, before you go, check out PJ Fiala, who is a romance author originally from Missouri. She moved to Wisconsin with her family when she was 13 years old, city kids learning to farm. The farm started out with 28 rescue cows (they were adopted from the Humane Society who took them from abusive circumstances). With all the hard work and the deep winters, Wisconsin was a hard sell until PJ met her husband. They have four children and three grand children. The pair enjoy riding their motorcycles, on which they meet new places and visit places new and old.

PJ comes from a long line of veterans: “My grandfather, father, brother, two of my sons, and one daughter-in-law are all veterans. Needless to say, I am proud to be an American and proud of the service my amazing family has given.”

‘Do you like to read? Wouldn’t you like to know more about your favorite authors? Well you came to the right place! Join the MMB Open Book Blog Hop each Wednesday and they will tell all. Every week we’ll answer questions and after you’ve enjoyed the blog on this site we’ll direct you to another. So come back often for a thrilling ride! Tell your friends and feel free to ask us questions in the comment box.’To join our Open Book Blog Hop – where we share all sorts of things about “life”.

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♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

#22• Topic: Songs from your past. Share your High School Music Loves

Oh, where do I begin? I hit high school in 1989 and completed it in 1993. The music of the period is loosely still the 1980s. Hair Metal was sliding back giving way to the grunge movement. Hip-Hop had gained powerful strides. Country was beginning to enjoy a mainstream run, which was not to last.

Music is something that gives a great many people joy. It can cause heated discussions on par with religion and politics. Often this revolves around calling one or other genre ‘crap’ or some other such disparagement. What a waste! I don’t disparage music, regardless of genre or my level of affinity toward it. My collection holds tracks from Celtic super powers and Cello aficionados to Timberland and industrial sound.

Country, I’m not a fan, but I respect the artists, as I would expect to be respected and do not call their art crap, or anything of the sort. During the 1990s, I loved many country songs, but the sound has since changed back to the sound that Country is known for. These artists work damn hard and my opinion is shit in the face of that. In high school, I did not listen to country, just like I don’t now.

Personally, I feel that anyone who bad mouths an artist or genre doesn’t truly love music. Jim Morrison saw the electronic age of music coming and he thought it was wonderful. Jim Fucking Morrison was a visionary god in the industry. Not only do I agree with him, but I find it ironic that those who love his music, which was despised by many at the time he produced it, despise any other genre of music. Whether one makes their art via non-electronic devices called instruments or through devices that electronically produce sound, which are also instruments of modern creation, to arrange those sounds into rhythmic sets is music and the artists who do it have talent beyond measure. Acumen for music was worshiped by the ancients as a talent of the Gods. Of course, anyone poo-pooing artists and songs are usually those who couldn’t manage to break out of their hairbrush singing in the mirror or make it bigger than mom’s garage, so their opinion is whatever. I’ve often wondered if the repulsion for certain kinds of music is rooted in bigotry that has nothing to do with music.

So what did I listen to?

Prepare for a video flashback…engage!

Pretty much what I listen to now. I still enjoyed the best of the 1980s. One of my favorite songs to this day is the Pet Shop Boys’, West End Girls. Madonna will always be precious to me.

In this same period, I was growing into quite the club rat. I loved club music: house, hip-hop, rap, techno, industrial….I had the moves to match. Scooting around the floor with friends usually resulted in a circle around me as I broke that shit down. Drop splits and all.

Urban music has always moved me far more than any other format. There’s something in the sound that speaks to my soul.

By this time, I had also been writing. For that, I enjoyed the new age music that was crossing the air waves, Madonna’s Immaculate Collection and trance.

Of course, there was rock in my repertoire. Some great, hard hitting tunes evolved in the 1990s.

and then this skater stuff started too. Not sure if that is what evolved into ska or what the fuck, but it was seriously fab.

I was also into the hippie brands…

And I can’t forget.

Oh, yeah. There was some great music in those days. I still love it.

Let’s go over and check out the musical tastes of some other authors (see the links to the hop on the right) But, before you go, check out ….Tracy Krimmer‘s work below.

Tracy’s love of writing began at nine years old. She wrote stories about aliens at school, machines that did homework for you, and penguins. Now she pens books and short stories about romance. She loves to read a great book, whether it be romance or science fiction, or any genre in between, or pop popcorn and catch up on her favorite TV shows or movies. She’s been known to crush a candy or two as well. Her first romance novel, Pieces of it All, released in May 2014 followed in December with Caching In, a romance mixed with the hobby of geocaching. She also has written several short stories. Her newest release is Jay Walking, a modern romance about a single mom fighting to get fit and build a good life, who stumbles into love.

‘Do you like to read? Wouldn’t you like to know more about your favorite authors? Well you came to the right place! Join the MMB Open Book Blog Hop each Wednesday and they will tell all. Every week we’ll answer questions and after you’ve enjoyed the blog on this site we’ll direct you to another. So come back often for a thrilling ride! Tell your friends and feel free to ask us questions in the comment box.’To join our Open Book Blog Hop – where we share all sorts of things about “life”.

OPEN BOOK BLOG HOP

Join Open Book Blog Hop -where we share all sorts of things about “life”.